Summer Shorts
by paganpunk2
Summary: A series of short pieces set during Dick's first summer at the Manor. Part of the Spark in the Dark universe, and all set between 'Firework' and 'The Princely Pardon.' T for language, primarily. Happy reading!
1. Two Wheels

**Author's Note: Hello, lovely readers! This will be a series of short pieces set during Dick's first summer at the manor in the Spark in the Dark universe. Even if you haven't read any of the other pieces in that universe, you should be fine to read these without too much confusion. They aren't necessarily in order, although where it matters I will make it clear what part of the season the scene is set in. I have a short list already, including Robin's first patrol, but if anyone has anything they'd particularly like to see appear in this little series of shorts please let me know!**

**I'll be posting a new chapter of Turkey Song before the weekend.**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

"Don't peek," Bruce ordered, pausing with his fingers wrapped around the front door's wrought iron handle.

"I won't," Dick promised, his hands rising to cover his already-shut eyes. "But seriously, what _is_ it?" His guardian had hinted at this moment all week long, teasing him about how much he was going to like his 'beginning of summer' surprise, and the boy could barely stand another second of waiting.

"I'm not telling," the billionaire answered, a trace of a chuckle tinting his voice. "You're just going to have to come out on the porch and see. But not until I say so," he added. "I mean it, kiddo. Don't cheat."

"I don't _cheat,_" Dick gave a wounded pout.

"I know you don't," came a quick reassurance. "It's just important that we do this a certain way, all right?"

"Sure. But can we go outside now?"

"Who said anything about going outside?" Bruce taunted.

"Bruuuce!"

"Okay, okay," he relented. "We're going."

"You're really excited about this, aren't you?" the child asked as a guiding touch lighted on his shoulder and directed him through the doorway. "You _sound_ excited."

"...Maybe I am a little, chum," the man at his side admitted slowly. "But what's important," he stopped him before he could tumble over the edge of the top step, "is what you're going to see in a second."

"Does that mean I can look now?!"

"Hold on," he urged, kneeling down to place his hands over his son's as Alfred wheeled an extremely shiny bike into view from the direction of the garage. "Don't peek, Dicky." _Don't spoil it. _

"I won't spoil it. I promise."

"Good."

"...Bruce?"

"Yeah?"

"What's that sound? Is something coming up the driveway?"

_Shit. _"Just ignore it. It's nothing."

"But you wouldn't want me to ignore it if we were-" He broke off, remembering that they were outside and that cave-talk was therefore verboten. "Well, you wouldn't _normally_ want me to ignore a strange noise."

"...It's focus training." _Will you buy that?_ Bruce wondered. _I think you'll buy that. You're scary smart, kiddo, but you're still enough of a child that putting the word 'training' after just about anything is enough to convince you that it's covert Robin practice. It's convenient, to say the least._

_ "..._'Focus training'?" was returned curiously.

"Yeah. Sometimes you really need to concentrate on one thing, but there are noises or lights that distract you. This will help you learn to ignore those things and prioritize the task at hand," Bruce made up on the fly.

It _was_ the sort of thing that Batman would come up with, Dick had to admit. "...So my task is to focus on...on what?"

"On...counting backwards from a hundred," the figure behind him improvised.

"But that's easy!"

"I know. Once you can do that without being distracted, I'll give you something harder."

"Okay," the boy shrugged. "One hundred, ninety nine, ninety eight, ninety seven..."

The ploy bought plenty of time for the butler to put the two-wheeler into position at the base of the stairs and step away. Once everything was ready, he arched an eyebrow at his elder charge, inquiring silently as to whether or not he was planning on interrupting the youth's recitation. The other man merely put on a sheepish look as Dick reached the forties, however, and both settled back to wait out the countdown.

"Fivefourthreetwoone!" the nine-year-old finished in a rush. Completely oblivious to the amused glance that the two adults were sharing over his head, he went on. "Can I look now?!"

"Okay, chum," Bruce allowed. "I'm going to pull my hands away, but I want you to wait for a minute before you open your eyes. Got it?"

"Got it."

The billionaire moved around to his side, still squatting but now able to see the pointed face he was certain would be wreathed with joy in just a few short seconds. _I don't want to miss that look,_ he thought determinedly. "...Ready?"

"_Yes!_"

"Okay. Now." He held his breath as the child's lids flew up. For a moment the unveiled blue orbs looked merely confused, then consternated, and the billionaire felt his heart sink. _You don't like it,_ he thought sadly. _I thought maybe...I just wanted...damn it!_ "...Dicky?"

"Is...is that a bike?"

"Yeah, chum. It's for you."

"...For me?"

"Of course." _Who else would I buy kid-sized __anything__ for?_ _C'mon, kiddo, just...just a little smile? Please? _

And then, suddenly, there it was, a happy, radiant grin that chased off the storm clouds Bruce had felt building at the back of his skull when his plan seemed to have failed. His own lips stretched until he was certain a glint of teeth could be seen between them, but for the moment he let the unusual expression go. _There. __That__ was what I was hoping for. Oof,_ he added as thin arms wrapped around his neck. _And that's just a bonus. A really fantastic bonus._ "You like it?"

"Yup! Thank you! It's really pretty."

_...'Really pretty'? Kind of an odd way to describe a bicycle, but okay._ "Do you want to take it for a spin before dinner?" he encouraged, eager to see him on it.

"Um...maybe after?" Dick suggested. "It's just...well, it'll never be this clean again, right?"

"Not if you use it right, no," Bruce joked even as the mild hesitancy in his child's voice gave him pause. _I barely even stopped to say thank you when I got my first bike,_ he mused. _If Alfred hadn't been giving me a look as I was getting on it I probably wouldn't have done anything other than ride off whooping for sheer delight. Hell, it took scrapes on practically every joint I possessed before dad finally managed to convince me to let him adjust the seat to my height...I know you're not me, chum, but why aren't you sprinting towards the driveway right now?_

"Maybe...maybe we should let it be pretty, just for a little while? I'll...I'll ride it after we eat, okay?" he asked, almost begging now as he clung to his guardian's neck.

"Dick," the man pulled back to meet his gaze, "it's...it's okay if you don't like it. We can get you a different one, or-"

"No!" came an instant negation. "I _do_ like it, Bruce. Honest, I really do. I just...want to wait until after dinner. Please?"

"...If that's what you want, chum, then sure," he agreed, puzzled but unwilling to push. _Maybe there's a memory tied to bicycles that he hasn't told me about,_ he tried to logic as Alfred joined them and they all moved inside and towards the dining room, leaving the toy to preen in the early evening light. _He might just need a little time to tackle it, that's all. I mean hell, I ought to know what that feels like, considering what happened when I started thinking about this moment..._

Upon receiving his six-month custody order, now a third of the way gone, a million possibilities had flooded his head. They were all things that it would have been silly to debate on or purchase until he knew for a fact that Dick would have time to use them, but they became essential the moment the boy's long-term residence at the manor was made somewhat secure. Only slightly below finding him a good school had been getting him a bike, and in the process of daydreaming about that necessary purchase Bruce had stumbled upon a long ago hidden recollection that had left him standing alone in the garage with silent tears rolling down his cheeks.

_Dad and me on the porch, and Alfred out on the gravel with my present,_ he bit the inside of his cheeks as he played the tiny snippet of his past that had assaulted him amongst the cars over once more in his mind. _My 'beginning of summer surprise,' dad called it. Mom was behind us, but that's the only thing that was different that day, really. The way I felt a minute ago, when he first really smiled about the bike,_ he pondered as he and the boy took up their usual spots across the table from one another, _is that...is that how dad felt when I saw __my__ bike? I know I was much younger than Dick is – I had to have been five, because it was the...the last summer... - but I must have grinned just like he did. Did...did dad look the way I did out there just now? I don't know,_ he thought sadly. _I wasn't looking at him, I was looking at the bike. I wish...I wish I had been paying attention to __him__, though. Now, looking back...I wish I had hugged him the way Dick did me._

"...Bruce?"

He jerked his head up just as a plate was set before him. "Huh?"

"You're...you're not mad that I didn't want to ride it right away, are you?"

"No," he shook his head. "Of course not. Why would you think I was?" _I wish I knew exactly why you didn't want to, but I'm not mad. I'll never be mad at you for hurting, Dicky._

"You were glaring at the tablecloth. You kind of looked like you wished you had Clark's heat vision so you could set it on fire," the youth informed him gravely. "I just...I just wanted to make sure that it wasn't me you were angry about."

_Oh, baby, no._ "I'm not mad at you, chum," he reassured him.

"Promise?"

"I promise," he nodded. "But kiddo? You know if there's some reason you don't want to ride it that you can tell me, right?"

"I...I know." The boy's gaze slid away, and he reached hastily for his fork. "But I'm fine. I'll...I'll ride it after dinner. Which smells really, _really_ good, Alfred," he changed the subject with a suavity that Bruce would have found inappropriate in anyone else's nine-year-old. "What did you put in the green beans?"

"...Almonds, Master Dick," the butler answered, sending his elder charge a knowing look once the child had focused on his food. "Just a few slivered almonds."

The billionaire replied to the unspoken injunction to get to the bottom of whatever was bothering the youngest member of their family with a minuscule tip of his head. _It's __got__ to be a memory,_ he decided, digging into his own repast. _An important one, too, I'd bet. He only tries to hide the ones that really hurt him from me, and I think that's only because he knows it hurts __me__ to see him break down like he does when we dredge one of those up._ _If I could just hide myself from him more effectively in those moments, but...but he reads me like a goddamn book. Well, after dinner, then. If I push him on it now he won't eat, and I don't want that. It will wait until we're back outside..._

Finally, the interminable meal ended. Dick's replies to the questions Bruce tossed him throughout had been scattered and distracted, settling the man further into his certainty that they would be tackling another relic from his son's past before bedtime. _It's okay, chum,_ he ached to repeat as he watched the boy almost mince up to the contraption on the gravel. _Just tell me. We'll work through it together, just like we have every other time. Too many times,_ his mouth tightened. _Let it out so that we can beat it. Let it out so that you can have some fun. _"...Do you need me to adjust the seat, kiddo?" he called from his position on the steps.

"Uh...no. It's fine."

_...Fine?_ he wondered as he watched him circle the bike, touching it lightly. _It's three inches too high, I can see that from here. Come on, Dicky, quit being so stubborn...if you try to ride it like that you'll just hurt yourself._ He flinched at a vision of bloodied knees, hands, and elbows, a premonition of brave little hiccups sounding in his mind as imaginary gravel was plucked from grated flesh. _Ugh. God, no wonder dad kept trying to get me to stop to let him change it...I'm not letting him fillet himself like I did._

"Master Wayne," Alfred spoke quietly from beside him, cutting him off just before he could stride forward and insist on lowering the platform. "...Do you recall seeing a bicycle anywhere in or around the young master's former home when you visited it? I realize your time there was very brief and that you had other things on your mind, but...do you perchance remember any specifics?"

Bruce frowned, thinking back a quarter of a year. "...No," he said eventually. "I don't. I don't know where they would have put one," he went on. "And from what he's said and what I've learned on my own they didn't have much of anything for spare money to buy one. Why do you ask?"

The Englishman shot him a glance. "I'm amazed you haven't deduced it for yourself, sir."

"Deduced _what_?" he hissed, both of them watching as Dick played with the brakes experimentally and then bent to flick a pedal into motion with his hand.

"Don't you suppose his hesitation might be rooted in his never having had a bicycle before?" A beat passed as the billionaire absorbed that proposal. "If he's never ridden one, but has seen other children do so – has seen other children crash, perhaps – he'd be rightly slow to simply climb aboard and give it a go. Or at least I _imagine_ he would be," he tacked on swiftly.

_But...don't all kids know how to ride bikes? _Bruce fumbled._ I mean...ah, fuck. It's not like it's an inborn trait, genius. If he's never had a bike, how would he just know how to ride one? _"...Alfred, I'm an idiot," he groaned. "I thought it was a memory, something attached to his father, or Haly, or something like that, but...god, that didn't even _occur_ to me, that he might not know how. Here, give me that," he reached out for the helmet the butler held under one arm. "We're fixing this, right now. Dick! Hold up, chum." He trotted down to join him, ignoring the tiny rocks that pressed through his pants as he knelt. "Dick...you don't know how to ride a bike, do you?"

"Of course I-!" The protest died out before it could be fully born, withering under the man's imploring look. "...No," he whispered, scuffing the toe of his sneaker in the dirt. "I don't. We...we could never afford for me to have one, and town kids...well...they didn't like to play with me to start with."

"...So you've never even been _on_ one?" Bruce boggled. _You can spend all day on your bars or on a trapeze without a care in the world, but you've never ridden a bike. Jesus christ, what a weird gap in your repertoire._

"I was on a unicycle once, but...my legs weren't long enough to really reach the pedals," Dick shrugged. "And those are even more expensive than bicycles, which doesn't make any sense since it's only half of one." That held him for a moment, his nose wrinkling as he considered the quandary. "Anyway...I was on one once. A bike, I mean. This...this group of other kids let me try one of theirs. Mom was...she was grocery shopping," he began to chew at his lower lip, "but it was hot inside so I didn't want to go in. She said I could play in a little park right across the street so long as I didn't go away or talk to strange adults. So I talked to the kids instead. I...I thought they were nice, and...I always wanted a bike, Bruce," he shared. "I'd see them all the time, and they looked like so much fun, but...even if we had spare money for one, where would we have put it? It would have gotten all dinged up on the back of the trailer, and there was no room inside...anyway, this girl said I could try hers. And I thought...I thought they were being nice, you know? They said they'd teach me...

"So I got up on it," he sniffled, "and first they were helping me balance, and it was nice. We were going really slow, and they were holding me up, but it was really neat. Everyone was laughing. I...I thought we were playing together, but...I was wrong. _They_ were playing together, but I wasn't one of them." His brow darkened. "There was this little hill, not very big – maybe as high as the stairs, and not steep or anything – anyway, they pushed me towards that. They pushed me to the top, and we were going kinda fast then, like they were jogging along. And I started to go down the hill, and...and then they weren't there any more. They'd stopped, and they were watching me go, Bruce. For a second it was okay, it was like I was doing it for real, but...they hadn't actually shown me anything. I didn't know how to stop, and I steered too hard to one side 'cause I got scared, and...and I crashed. I wasn't really hurt or anything, and neither was the bike, but...they all laughed when I fell." He ducked his head, a single tear shining on his cheek. "They all laughedat me. And that...that was the only time I was ever on a bike. I still wanted one, but...I didn't want another bunch of kids to do that to me again, you know? It was _mean_, Bruce. It was mean, and it...it hurt..."

"...Oh, kiddo," the billionaire breathed, pulling him in. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." _Those little bastards,_ he seethed, cupping the back of his son's head as a pair of shivering little sobs rocked his narrow frame. "Dicky...chum...it's okay if you say no, but...do you want to learn how to ride a bike for real?"

The boy pulled back, swiping at his cheeks with the back of one hand. "...Could you teach me?" he whispered hopefully. "I...I really want to do it, Bruce, I just..." He trailed off, shifting uncomfortably. "I just hear them laughing still. I _really_ like the bike you got me, it's just...them. I know it's silly, but-"

"It's not silly," he shook his head. "It's not. It's just something you have to get over, that's all. And I think I know how to do that. Alfred?" he craned over his shoulder, searching the butler out. "Grab the other wheels, would you?"

"Of course, sir," the Englishman acquiesced, heading for the garage for the second time that evening.

"...'Other wheels'?" Dick asked quizzically.

"Yeah, chum. They're called training wheels. They go beside the back tire," he explained, pointing out where they attached, "and they make it almost impossible for you to fall over when you're riding. Don't worry, all kids use them when they're learning how to ride. Besides, no one can see you here, and you know Alfred and I wouldn't laugh at you."

"I know. But...they _really_ don't let you fall over?" he verified, a little ray of hope shining in his eyes.

"They really don't. And when you're ready to take them off," Bruce continued, reaching up to rest his hands on the child's shoulders, "I can hold onto the bike while you ride. Just until you get the hang of it."

"And...you won't let go till I'm ready for you to?"

"Not until you're ready, chum. I promise. You might fall a couple of times," he warned, "but it won't hurt too much, and I'll be right there to help you try again. Before long you'll be running all over the place on this thing," he tilted his head towards the bicycle. "...Sound good?"

Dick considered for a long second, then smiled and nodded. "Okay. That sounds good. So long as you help me."

"You bet I will, kiddo," the man swore. _Just...just like dad did for me,_ he swallowed. _He never had time for much at home, but teaching me how to ride a bike...he didn't miss that, at least. _"Now," he shook himself, picking up the helmet from where he'd dropped it beside the front tire and snugging it down over the boy's head, drawing a giggle, "let's go over some basics, huh? Pay attention, this is important..."


	2. Trump Card

**Author's Note: Here's another little peek into Bruce and Dick's first summer together. This will be a two-parter, so stay tuned for the next chapter. Also, those of you who have been waiting oh-so-patiently for more 'Turkey Song' will be rewarded soon, I promise! Happy reading!**

* * *

By mid-June Bruce had grown used to being tackled the instant he set foot inside the front door, but the force with which Dick hit him on one particular afternoon told him that there was something more than a simple greeting on the boy's mind. "Hey there, chum," he nearly smiled as arms locked around his waist. "What's up?"

The child tilted his head back without releasing his hold and gave up his best grin. "Could we go camping? _Pleeease_?"

"...Camping?" the billionaire repeated doubtfully. "I'm not much of an outdoorsman, kiddo. I don't even think we own a civilian tent."

"Alfred says we have three," Dick countered immediately.

"Of varying sizes," the butler confirmed as he trailed in after his younger charge. "Additionally, the forecast is calling for a stretch of very fine weather this weekend, and there's a fairly secluded-looking campground only thirty minutes away."

"And we could eat hot dogs and marshmallows and maybe see a deer!" the boy added eagerly.

Bruce smirked as a muscle beneath Alfred's left eye twitched at the mention of processed foods. "Or, young sir," the older man suggested firmly, "there's an old two-burner camp stove around here somewhere that should serve very well for meal preparation. It's been some time since I cooked with propane, but I imagine I can manage something better than...hot dogs."

"But...aren't you _supposed_ to eat hot dogs and marshmallows when you're camping?" Dick asked quizzically.

"Uh, before we decide on a menu," the billionaire cut in, arching an eyebrow, "let's discuss whether or not we're even going. Frankly, I'm leaning towards 'no' right now."

"How come?!"

"Indeed, sir, what possible objections could you have?"

_So many reasons,_ he sighed silently. "Well, the campground, for one thing. You said it's secluded, Alfred, but you know the minute someone recognizes us it's going to be a media feeding frenzy." Despite the fact that their lives had quieted down substantially since Margine Randall's trial had ended and a six-month custody order had assured their new little family of stability for the duration of the summer, Bruce was all too familiar with the tendency of the press vultures to circle long after a story seemed to be dead. _I don't want to put him through that kind of stress again, _he thought of the child still clinging to his side. _It was bad enough when they were accosting us in the middle of daily activities; I won't give them the opportunity to spoil what's supposed to be a fun outing. If you can call camping fun, that is._ "We'd have to go much more than thirty minutes from Gotham to even have a chance of peace."

"Point taken, Master Wayne," the Englishman nodded crisply. "I'll find someplace a bit further afield, then, so as to ease your mind."

"Yay!" Dick cheered. "I love long car rides! Could you find a spot by a river, Alfred? I like camping next to rivers, they sound pretty when you're going to sleep."

"I don't see why not, young sir."

"Hooray!"

"Whoa!" Bruce interjected. "Hold on, I still haven't agreed to this." _God, what did the two of you have for lunch that's got you all revved up and conspiring against me?_ "If we're that far from the house, how am I supposed to go on patrol? And you don't _really_ want to take a night off of Robin training, do you?" he directed downwards. _There. He treats training the way saints treat prayer, so that should be all it takes to put an end to this._

"No," Dick shook his head, "but we wouldn't have to! We could do, like, wilderness survival training – you know, moss on the north side of trees, following rivers downstream to find towns, that stuff – and it wouldn't even seem weird if someone heard what we were saying, 'cause _lots_ of people talk about all of that when they're in the woods with their kids. And it's on the list of things I have to learn anyway, right?"

It took a fair bit of concentration for the billionaire not to chuckle proudly at that apt response. "...It sounds like you already know a lot about wilderness survival," he teased lightly. "Maybe _you_ should be the one teaching _me_."

Dick shrugged, the half-joke rolling off of his shoulders mirthlessly. "Dad and I talked about that stuff a lot," he said quietly, his arms falling away from his guardian's waist as he took a single step back. "He told me it was because we moved around so much that there wasn't a chance for me to get familiar with places, so he wanted to make sure that if I got lost I could take care of myself until they could find me." Buffing the shining marble under his feet with one sock, he didn't speak for a moment. "Anyway," he went on finally, "Batman has to know _tons_ more about it than I do, right? And you could teach it to me without anyone knowing it was Robin training. So...please, Bruce? Could we _please _go camping? I know you won't be able to patrol, but...just one night? _Please?_"

_...And here I thought I had the trump in __my__ hand when I brought up your training,_ Bruce gulped. _But the 'something I used to do with my dad' card is much better. _It wouldn't destroy the city to be without Batman for a single night, he had to admit, and outdoor survival training was certainly on the extensive list of things he intended to pound into his son's head. He still carried a strange reservation in the pit of his stomach, however, and not even the extra impetus of having been asked to pick up a special activity where John Grayson had left it was quite enough to allow him to simply push it aside. "...Let me sleep on it, chum," he requested. "Tomorrow's Friday, so we'll have time to go on Saturday if I decide we're doing it. Okay?"

"...You're _really_ going to think about it, right?" Dick peered up at him hopefully.

"I really will. I promise."_ If I don't, Alfred might skin me alive,_ he added in his head, noting the butler's imperative expression. _I'm not going to be allowed to say no just because I don't like sleeping outside. Besides, if anyone could make camping fun, kiddo, it would be you. I want to make you happy, and it's not like you're asking for the moon or anything, but I've got to figure out why this feels like such a bad idea first..._

The answer came to him around three in the morning when a small, warm figure crept beneath the sheets and snuggled into his side. "You okay, Dicky?" he asked softly, automatically assuming that a nightmare had driven him to seek comfort.

"Mmph."

_ That's a no, then_, the half-asleep man translated. "Tell me about it?" he queried, bearing the stickiness of terror sweat in order to run his fingers soothingly up and down the boy's spine.

There was a long pause. "...Zucco," Dick answered eventually, all of the explanation that was needed contained in those two dangerous syllables and the shudder that came on their heels.

"Ooh," Bruce breathed in commiseration. "I'm sorry." _Sorry I couldn't save them. Sorry I couldn't save __you__, both from seeing what happened to them and from everything bad that came about as a result of his actions. Sorry...but also glad, so glad that you're here with me now. That's awful, I know, but...it is what it is._ "But he's gone now."

"I know, I just...I dunno."

"You haven't had a dream about him in a couple of weeks, right?"

"Uh-uh." Another silence drew out. "...Bruce?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you have bad dreams about him, too?"

"I..." Their eyes met in the midst of his hesitation, and for an instant all the man could see were the acid-burned irises he had envisioned in what had easily been one of the worst nightmares of his life. It hadn't reoccurred since he'd heard of Tony Zucco's death, but plenty of other mental videos had filled the gap, leaving him lying awake with an uneasy stomach on at least a dozen separate occasions. "...Yeah, chum. I do sometimes."

"Is...is that why you don't want to go camping? Cause of him, or someone else?"

The billionaire shifted, his lips turning down into a pensive frown. "What makes you think that?"

"Weeell...you didn't want to go to a campground close by. You didn't want to be where someone might recognize us."

"Right, because of the media."

"Sure, but...maybe because of bad guys, too? I mean...there wouldn't be any walls to hide behind if we were camping. Not that Batman _hides_," Dick corrected himself, "but...you wouldn't be Batman out there. And I wouldn't be Robin. And...well, stuff happens."

..._Goddamn, that __is__ it,_ the billionaire realized slowly. _Anaxas managed to get past the fence and into the yard, leaving the house itself as the only defense that wasn't breached by Zucco or his men. Two of my three levels of civilian protection were overcome, and given more time Zucco might have tried to break through the last one in order to get his hands on Dick. _He squeezed the boy closer without thinking about the action. _And I __wouldn't__ be Batman, just like he said. If someone tried something, I wouldn't be able to protect him with anything beyond the borderline incompetent flailings of 'Brucie.'_ He huffed, angry at the situation and his own civilian ineffectiveness. _...I know he wants to_ _do this, but falling asleep with nothing between us and everyone else – the media, remnants of Zucco's syndicate, random nutjobs – except a thin tent shell...I'm not comfortable with that. Everything is still too recent for me to think that __something__ won't happen if we try._ "...You're right," he nodded. "Stuff _does_ happen. And I think something is likely _to_ happen if we try and spend a night out like you suggested, especially given that we still have an elevated number of eyes on us when we're outside of the fences."

"So...we're not going to go, are we?" a sad little voice inquired.

_ Oh, hell..._ "No," Bruce winced as he rendered his verdict. "I'm sorry, chum. It's just too risky. Maybe next summer we can do it, but not now."_ Don't cry,_ he begged silently. _Please don't cry._

Dick didn't cry, but rather was quiet for a long moment. "...Bruce?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I...what's the word?...can I, um, amend my proposal?"

_...Spending your afternoons watching C-SPAN, kiddo?_ the man wondered. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, he withheld the snarky question and simply agreed. "Sure."

"We can't go camping at a campground, but...you have lots of land and stuff here. What if...what if we went camping inside the fence? Then we'd be safe, right, andno one could see us? You'd even be able to patrol!" he added excitedly. "And Alfred could cook like normal, so he wouldn't be so mad about the hot dogs. Even though I'm pretty sure you're supposed to eat hot dogs when you camp, so I don't know why he doesn't want us to."

"That's...that's not a bad idea, chum," Bruce considered. _Anaxas got through the fence, yes, but the perimeter's been upgraded and he's in jail,_ he reasoned. _Someone else could hypothetically get through, but...well, his sentence is still a pretty fresh punishment in the minds of anyone who might try. And even if someone __did_ _get in, Dick could run to the house and either be safe there or be able to access the cave in case of a further intrusion. And I won't complain about being able to go on patrol..._ "...You know what, Dicky?"

"What?"

"Let's do it. But," he added as the boy cheered, "we're not going out into the woods." The natural choice would be the pond, he knew, and the scene of his horrific dream was the last place he wanted to spend the night. "We'll camp on the back lawn instead. Maybe next time we can go out further-" _so long as it isn't the pond,_ he didn't add, "-but for this first time I want to stay close to the house. Deal?"

"You mean for sleeping, right? Like we could go on a long walk in the woods before we go to bed? And look at moss and birds and deer and stuff?"

Bruce smiled at the barely-contained shake of joy in his son's voice. _There are plenty of other trails. A solution that makes him happy and might allow me to sleep while we're 'camping'? I'll take it. _"So long as we stick together, kiddo," he allowed, "we can look at all the moss you want to."

"Yay!"


	3. Camp Bruce

Dick didn't even give his guardian a chance to get out of the car before he accosted him the next day. "Hi!" he squealed, sliding to a stop beside the vehicle. A low rattle sounded as a few bits of gravel flew from his shoes to clatter against the undercarriage, and Bruce winced. "Sorry," the boy apologized immediately, his expression half-contrite, half-distracted. "But you've gotta see the back yard!"

"I'm coming," the billionaire promised. "But I can't get out with you all but leaning in the window."

"Oh!" Grinning, he stepped back, then launched himself forward for a hug as soon as the man was upright. "I'm _sooo_ excited!"

"I know you are, chum," Bruce smiled softly down at the dark head tucked against his side. _I don't really understand __why__, but...what the hell. I get to spend the evening with you, so it doesn't really matter what we're doing. Even if it __is__ camping_. "...Me, too."

Dick looked up at him. "You are? I thought you didn't like outdoorsy stuff."

"Well..." _Trust you to have actually been listening to what I said yesterday. _"...Let's see if you can change my mind."

"Okay!" the boy exclaimed, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the manor. "C'mon! There's so much to do!"

Alfred met them in the foyer, his eyes sparkling with amusement as his elder charge was tugged inside by his younger. "Good afternoon, Master Wayne," he greeted, shooting him a sympathetic look. "Master Dick hasn't quite managed to relieve you of your arm yet, I see."

"No, but that's not for lack of trying. Kiddo, we're in; you can stop."

"But we're going to the back yard, remember?"

"Not until after Master Wayne has had an opportunity to change into clothing that costs less than a first-class airline ticket, you aren't," the butler ruled. "With all due respect, I've very little interest in trying to remove dirt from Armani. There is a more camp-appropriate wardrobe on your bed, sir. I'd be happy to take your briefcase," he added, extending a hand.

Bruce gave it over. "...Dicky, why don't you run upstairs and make sure my clothes look okay?"

"But...Alfred picked them," the child wrinkled his nose in confusion. "Of _course_ they'll look okay."

"Why, thank you, Master Dick," Alfred voiced his appreciation.

"Just go double check, huh?" the other adult insisted. "I'm guessing that you kept him busy getting things ready today, so don't you think it's possible he made a mistake because he was distracted?"

"Um...no?"

Sensing that Bruce wanted a moment alone, the Englishman pitched in. "Your flattery is very kind, young sir, but I _am_ fallible. Seeing as how you have a schedule of events planned out, perhaps you ought to verify that I've chosen the correct sort of items for your activities, hmm?"

"Well...okay. I guess I can. But hurry, Bruce, there's so, so much for us to do!" With that plaintive request lingering behind him Dick bounded up the stairs to the second floor, barely stopping long enough to kick off his shoes.

_...That's the second time since I've gotten home that he's told me we have a lot to do,_ the billionaire reflected. _And Alfred mentioned a 'schedule of events.' That's both intriguing __and__ disturbing. _"Has he been this...uh..._bouncy_...all day?" _Tell me what exactly I'm in for tonight._

"Oh, yes, sir. He's very much looking forward to camping out," the butler informed him, sounding pleased. "While I'm not entirely certain why you refused to take him off of the property for this purpose – and you need not explain your reasoning to me, of course – I must say that you made him exceedingly happy when you agreed to at least pass the night on the lawn. I've no idea where he's getting all of this energy from, but as exhausting as it has been to supervise him today I can't truthfully state that I didn't enjoy seeing him go multiple hours in a row without seeming to think of the recent cruelties he's experienced."

"Yeah..." Bruce trailed off guiltily. _I wish I was more into this whole camping thing, _his eyebrows drew together. _But the idea of sleeping outside...god, I do that enough on JLA missions. Other than the connection to his father, what could the allure possibly be, especially to a smart kid like Dick?_ "I don't get why he's so eager to sleep in the grass with the bugs when he has a perfectly good bed," he shook his head, "but if it makes him that happy, I'll deal with it. For one night," he added a caveat.

"I expected no less, sir," Alfred nodded approvingly. "And you need not worry about sleeping 'in the grass with the bugs,' as you put it. I have ensured that the floor of the tent is intact, I have placed repellant devices at strategic intervals around the site, and I have a bottle of mosquito and tick spray at the ready for the walk in the woods Master Dick has determined you'll be taking." He paused, then dropped his voice to a near-whisper. "There is also a three-inch-thick ground pad underneath your sleeping bags. I have refrained from informing the young master of that fact, however, as he regaled me earlier with quite the detailed explanation of how sleeping on the ground is akin to receiving a massage. I've never felt it to be as such, personally, and I didn't imagine that you have either, so I took the liberty of cushioning your beds without his knowledge. If he is insistent about the benefits of resting on the ground when he lays down, you can simply fold the padding over and use it yourself."

"Alfred..." Bruce closed his eyes gratefully. "You're a mind reader."

"You're welcome, sir," the butler replied. "Now, common sense would dictate that the young sir will be reappearing momentarily in order to wonder why you've not yet joined him upstairs. That being the case, I'll keep things short and simply advise you to take your walk before too much longer so that you can ensure you are home before dark. Dinner will be ready when you return." Turning away and heading to place his employer's briefcase in the study, he paused. "And Master Wayne?" he tossed over his shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"Do_ try_ to have a little fun tonight, won't you?"

"Somehow," Bruce sighed as he moved towards the stairs, "I don't think he's going to give me a choice on that front."

Twenty minutes later, clad in a long-sleeved tee and khakis and having finished performing borderline-finicky ablutions with the bug spray, the billionaire trekked into the woods behind the house. Dick skipped along in front of him, stopping and starting again in little bursts as things to the side of the trail caught his attention. "Hey, look!" the boy called out some ten minutes after they'd stepped off of the manicured grass. "Moss!"

"What is it with you and moss, kiddo?" the man asked as he drew up to him.

"Nothing. I just think it's neat how it can tell you where to go."

"Mm. It can tell you what direction is roughly north in some situations," Bruce agreed, "but there are a lot of factors to think about when you're relying on a bryophyte to get you home safely."

"Like what?" came a curious question.

"Hemisphere, latitude, and overall knowledge of the general area are the first things that leap to mind," he answered, warming to his subject. "In the southern hemisphere, moss grows on the _south_ sides of trees because the sun's orientation to the earth is different. If you're in a densely forested area where not much sun gets through, moss could grow on _all_ sides of a tree. It really comes down to moisture and shade. If a space is cool and wet, the moss isn't going to care which direction it's pointing; it's just going to grow."

"So...moss is no good to tell you where to go if you're lost?"

Bruce looked down to find a disappointed expression wreathing his son's face. _Shit. I hope I didn't just utterly destroy something his father told him in good faith. He doesn't seem upset, but maybe I should just leave it be. But...no,_ he decided. _I can't imagine that John Grayson would want his son to be left ignorant of facts that might save his life someday, even if telling him those facts negates something he taught him. Even if he __would__ want that, Dick's life is more important than the desires of a dead man. _"It could hypothetically work," he allowed, trying to ease into his contradiction, "but in a tough situation you'd be much better off relying on the sun and moon for directions. Even then, though, what good is knowing where north is if you don't know whether you need to go north, south, east, or west? If you have no idea where you are in relation to your destination, not even a compass will be much help."

"...Is that why you keep giving me pages from the atlas to memorize? And all the different city maps and pictures of buildings and stuff?"

"Exactly, chum. That's exactly why." _Because if I'm ever foolish enough to let you get lost, I damn well want to make sure I get you back,_ he thought fiercely.

A hand slipped into his suddenly. "Will you tell me more while we walk? I want to know how to get back to you if we ever get separated."

The billionaire tightened his grip. "Dicky," he swore, "on that subject, I'll tell you everything I know."

A long, rambling discussion on path finding, astronomy, and weather-reading later, they regained their little camp. As they approached Bruce had to confess that in the dusk the set-up that the boy had been so eager to show him upon his arrival home managed to look almost cozy, with the tent lit from within and a cheerful fire crackling in a low grate nearby. Had the house not been looming behind the scene he might have made himself believe that they'd left the manor property after all. "Nice fire."

"Alfred makes the best fires," Dick agreed, dropping to sit cross-legged on the ground before the bowl of flames. "Even when he makes them in the fireplace, they're great."

"...You know there are perfectly good chairs right here if you want one," the man pointed out, settling into one and stretching his feet towards the flickering pile of wood. It was nowhere near cold out, but the warmth of the blaze sated a primal urge that he hadn't realized had been awakened during their stroll, and he gave an involuntary sigh of contentment as his muscles relaxed.

"Yeah. But I like the grass. It's comfy." As he spoke the boy began to empty his pockets of the items he'd collected along their path; a few leaves, somewhat crumpled but still distinguishable by species, a large pine cone, and several rocks of varying size and color. Bruce watched silently as the finds were laid out in a neat row from smallest to largest and then examined one by one, their gatherer taking up each piece of his ensemble in turn and inspecting it thoroughly. As he finished with a flat, flaky stone the size of his palm, he fumbled it, sending it tumbling to the ground. "Oh no!" he exclaimed as multiple shards split off from the core. "Actually..." his head tilted to the side and reached for the largest chunk, "that's really neat."

"Careful," Bruce instructed. "Those pieces might be sharp."

"But look!" Dick leaped to his feet and hustled over. "It's funny on the inside, see?"

"Hold it more in the light, chum, I can't see what you're talking about." Leaning forward, the billionaire peered at the object. "...Huh. Interesting." _Nice find, kiddo, especially since I'm pretty sure you were just picking up random rocks because you liked the way they looked._

"What do you think it is?"

"...What do _you_ think it is?" he echoed. "You tell me what you think, and then I'll tell you what it is."

"Um...well, it kind of looks like a leaf. See, there are little ridges on it just like there are on a couple of the ones I picked up?" He ran his finger over a dark patch near the middle of the newly-revealed rock, then nodded. "Yeah. It's shaped right, too. But it's in a _rock_, and that doesn't make any...wait a minute. Bruce, did we find a fossil?!" a childish squeal of delight sounded as he figured out what he was holding. "Is this a really super old leaf that turned into rock?"

"I'm pretty positive that that's exactly what it is," the man felt a grin coaxing the corners of his mouth upwards. _Clever little bird._

"That's _so cool_! Alfred!" Dick cried out happily, spotting the butler coming from the house. "Alfred, look at what we found on our walk!"

The older man stopped several yards away, a wide tray in one hand and a flashlight in the other, as the boy sprinted to him. "It must be quite exciting indeed if it's given you so much energy right after your trek," he commented.

"It _is_ exciting! We found a fossil!" he announced, shoving his prize into the torch's beam. "Do you see it?"

"I do, young sir, and I'm very impressed. Would you mind terribly if I gave your find a closer look once I've finished carrying your dinner to the fire?"

"Oh!" The youth's blush was evident even in the low light at the edge of the camp. "I should have waited 'til you could put your stuff down. Sorry. It's not heavy, is it?"

"No, Master Dick," Alfred shook his head genially as they stopped across the fire from where Bruce still sat. "Not objectionably so. And I truly am interested in your fossil, I assure you. Before we discuss it further, however, would you be so kind as to fetch the ice chest from beside the tent?"

"Sure!"

"...Is he going to be able to carry a full cooler?" the billionaire queried as the child scampered past him. _Not that he won't try even if it __is__ too heavy, _he added to himself,_ I just don't want him to hurt himself with it._

"It's empty," the Englishman replied. "I brought it out more for aesthetics than anything."

"Oh."

"Here you go!" Dick trumpeted as he set the container down. "Um..." he went on as the tray was placed on top of it. "What's for dinner? Is..." He gulped, clearly weighing whether or not the question he wanted to ask was worth the reaction it might bring. "...Is it hot dogs?" he ventured finally, his lower lip disappearing between his teeth as he waited for an answer.

"Well, young sir, I believe you know how I feel about that particular...food product," Alfred managed the last two words with only a mild twitch.

"Yeeaah..." The boy ducked his head, trying to hide his discouragement. "...I know."

"But I _also_ believe that you'll find these to be an acceptable substitute," the butler went on, whisking the lid off to reveal a stack of bratwurst and a variety of condiments. "What do you think?"

Dick grinned, his mood instant restored. "I think they look like rich-people hot dogs," he giggled. "Can we cook them ourselves? Please?"

"So long as you're safe about the procedure and Master Wayne has no objections, I don't see why not," Alfred allowed.

"Do we have sticks?" Bruce asked, approaching. "And...is that a beer?" he narrowed his eyes at the bottle standing up behind the food.

"Yes, sir. It seemed appropriate for the meal and the surroundings, but if you would prefer something else..."

The billionaire was silent for a long moment. He rarely drank at home, and when he did it was usually scotch, but he recognized the label as that of a micro-brew he'd enjoyed on an outing in the past – _damn you, Clark, for making me like something so high in empty calories – _and the more he thought about how it might taste with one of the sausages that were shining dully in the firelight the more convinced he became. "No, I'll drink it," he said eventually.

"Lovely. And, Master Dick, I've brought you out a soda."

"Since when are _those_ allowed in the house?" Bruce gaped as the boy jumped for joy beside him.

"Since someone began making them with fruit juice, Master Wayne," Alfred explained, a bottle opener appearing in his hand. "I've no intention of keeping them on hand from day to day, but since this is a special occasion I thought it only fair. As for the sticks you inquired about, I left them next to the cooler."

"I'll get them!" Dick volunteered, taking off in a series of perfect cartwheels.

"The last thing he needs is more sugar," the billionaire groaned, watching him go. "I can't believe you're giving him soda."

"I suppose you'd prefer I don't bring out the graham crackers, marshmallows, and chocolate bars that I procured for dessert, then, sir?" the butler asked savvily.

"...You got materials for s'mores, _and _you're giving him soda? Alfred...did he drug you with something while I was at work?"

"Of course not. I only thought that since this is your first night camping out together allowances ought to be made for things like sugar and carbonation. And while the soda and s'mores will likely keep him up a bit later than usual," he confided, "I believe that the subsequent sugar crash may be enough to let him sleep straight through the night. Add in the general exhaustion that must be building up from all of his running about today, and he might even go without nightmares until morning."

_...You had me at no nightmares,_ Bruce thought, giving a single nod of approval as Dick, now walking rather than tumbling, returned with two long roasting forks. "Okay. Deal."

"What's a deal?" the boy asked.

"That if you eat a whole sausage, bun and all, I will tell you about your surprise dessert," Alfred answered quickly.

"...But rich people hot dogs are kind of big," he eyed them. "I don't know if I'll have room for dessert if I eat a whole one _and_ a bun."

"You'll make room once you hear what the surprise is, chum, I promise," Bruce held back a grin. _You're going to squeak when you find out we're having s'mores. I can hear you already._

Squeak Dick did indeed when he had cleaned his paper plate to Alfred's satisfaction and was let in on the secret, giving such a yelp that anyone unaware of the situation would have thought he'd been pinched unexpectedly. He then giggled his way through the process of cooking his first marshmallow, nearly dropping it into the coals when his guardian managed to catch his own treat on fire. "Yuck," he wrinkled his nose at the cracked black shell that became visible once the billionaire let the glob slip from his utensil into the fire. "I'm glad you didn't eat that. That would have been gross."

"Agreed."

"Good thing Alfred's getting the crackers and didn't see. He might be mad at you for wasting food."

"Normally I'd say you're right about that, too, but I don't think he considers marshmallows food."

"...Bruce?"

"What's up, kiddo?" he replied distractedly, focused on not engulfing his second attempt at dessert in flame.

"Um...is beer gross?"

Bruce glanced at him, eyebrows raised. "...Are you asking if you can try it?" he clarified.

"...Could I?"

_Not out here,_ he mused. _If__ there was someone watching, media, CPS, anyone really, and they got a picture of me handing you alcohol...that would be it. They'd take you, and I'd never get you back. But I don't see any logic in refusing to let you try it at all – that would just make it into more of a temptation down the road, I think – and anyone who was close enough to hear us talking right now would be visible, so... _"I'll save a little for in the tent, okay?" he said quietly. "You can try it there. I don't think we should do it out here."

Dick paled slightly. "...You don't think someone's in the trees, do you?" he whispered. "Like...like Anaxas was?"

"No," Bruce reassured him immediately. "I don't. But I also don't want to take any chances." _Going to have to do better than that, Wayne,_ he coached himself as his son's lip was pulled back to be gnawed on nervously. "Dicky, if I thought someone was out here with us – especially someone who wanted to hurt you – do you honestly think I would let you sleep in the tent tonight?"

The child visibly relaxed. "No. I know you wouldn't."

"Okay. Good. But," he added, "that's no reason for us not to be careful, especially since my giving you beer would technically be illegal."

"You don't have to, Bruce. I don't want you to get in trouble."

"...Let's discuss it later," the billionaire advised, hearing the back door to the house heralding Alfred's approach. "You just focus on not doing to your marshmallow what I did to mine."

"...Ew. Okay."

When they were finished eating, Dick suggested that they move a short way into the darkness and look at the stars. Bruce momentarily considered countering with an offer of going inside and using the telescope on the third floor again, but a knowing look from Alfred kept his lips sealed. Chastened, he consented, and they walked out to where the butler, ever borderline clairvoyant as to their needs, had spread a blanket across the grass. _...This isn't so bad, I guess,_ he deemed as they stared at the night sky. The child snuggled up against him a moment later, and as he wrapped his arm around the narrow figure he smiled. _Not so bad at all._

As Alfred had predicted, not even a bottle of soda and two s'mores were sufficient to keep Dick running much past his usual weekend bedtime. Warm and secure in his guardian's grip, the boy's pointing out of shooting stars and satellites became less frequent and more broken by yawns, and before long he had turned his head against Bruce's shoulder and closed his eyes. _So much for tasting beer,_ the billionaire smirked when he realized what had happened. _That's all right. We don't have to use up all of our firsts tonight. I don't mind in the least. _"Hey, kiddo," he coaxed gently. "You ready for bed?"

"Huh-uh...having fun..."

"Having fun falling asleep?"

"Uh-huh...i'mean...nuh-uh...'mawake..."

"Sure you are," the man agreed with a chuckle. "C'mon, chum, you're half out already."

"Mmkay...carry me?"

Carry him Bruce did, his knees singing praise for Alfred when he bent to lay down his load inside the tent and they connected with cushioning foam instead of rigid earth. "...Warm enough?" he asked once he'd zipped the child-sized sleeping bag half closed around its mumbling occupant.

"Uh-huh...Bruce?"

"Hmm?"

Dick's eyelids hoisted themselves to half-mast. "Camp Bruce was really fun, but...do you think next summer we could try Camp Batman?"

_...What? _"You want to go camping in costume?" he queried.

"Wouldn't it be good practice? We could do, like...I dunno...more survival stuff? And maybe swing from the trees..." His eyes drooped shut again, leaving the thought hanging.

_Camp Batman,_ Bruce shook his head in disbelief. _You come up with some of the craziest ideas, kiddo. Although...that one isn't necessarily so bad, except for the parts where we'd have to go to the middle of nowhere, Alfred couldn't come, and we'd have no excuse for bringing the ground pad with us._ _But...you have a point about it being good training. Hmm...there's time, _he let himself off of the hook for the moment. _You aren't even allowed out of the cave in costume yet, so I don't have to decide tonight. It will wait._

"Sir?" the butler's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Ah. Fast asleep, I see," he noted Dick's state.

"He is that."

"Did he comment on the ground pad?"

"No. I don't even think he noticed it." A yawn split his face without warning. "Sorry, Alfred," he apologized reflexively when it had passed.

"That's quite all right, Master Wayne. I take it you'll be joining him in slumber before long?"

Bruce hesitated. "...I should patrol. It's still early enough for me to get some work done out there tonight." _But I can't leave him alone out here,_ the fear that had prevented him from taking Dick away from the manor to camp protested. "Will you stay with him until I get back?"

"I would never leave the young sir asleep and alone outside of the house, sir, but with all due respect I rather think that _you_ ought to be the one to stay. The city can survive the night sans Batman, I'm quite certain, but if he were to wake," he nodded towards the slumbering youth, "and find you absent on such a special occasion as this it could be very upsetting."

"He said himself that by camping on the lawn I'd be able to go out," the billionaire countered. _He practically gave me permission. If you'll just watch him..._

"I don't doubt it, but that doesn't mean that it wouldn't hurt were he to learn that you actually took him up on that selfless offer."

_Ah, shit. It __would__ hurt his feelings, of course it would. _For an instant he was a child again, and the only thing he could see was his father's back as he shrugged on a jacket and left his son's fifth birthday party to cover a shift at the hospital. His stomach twisted. _No. I won't do that to him. If an emergency comes up I'll have to go, but a regular patrol...Gotham will survive. _"You're right," he shook his head. "You're right. I don't want him to wake up and find me gone." A heavy sigh escaped his lips. "...I'd rather not have to ask you to do this, but-"

"I will monitor the skies for the signal, sir, and fetch you immediately if it comes up."

_You're a damn mind reader, I swear. _"...Okay. Then I'll stay."

"Very good, Master Wayne. I've already placed the young sir's fossil in his bedroom as a keepsake; is there anything further I can do for you this evening?"

"...I didn't put him in pajamas," Bruce confessed.

"It's no matter, since he seems to be sleeping comfortably without them. Would you like me to fetch a pair of yours?"

"No. I'll sleep like this." He paused. "Good night, Alfred."

"It was a good night indeed, sir. Sweet dreams." Then, with a drawn out _zip_ as he sealed the tent's door, the butler was gone.

_ Just you and me, kiddo,_ the billionaire thought, considering the sleeping child. _In a tent, on a camp-out. Which, if I'm going to be fair, hasn't been all that bad. _Something that sounded like 'moss' fell from the boy's lips, and his gaze softened. _Okay, full disclosure; it's been pretty good. And with this halfway-decent platform to sleep on,_ he tacked on as he laid down and tested the foam beneath him, _Alfred on signal watch, and you safe and sound beside me...well, let's just say that this sort of camping isn't so onerous that I wouldn't do it again._

Pulling the top of his sleeping bag up, Bruce reached over to loosely clasp the hand that Dick had already worked free of the covers. Lithe fingers closed reflexively around his own, and after that there was only time for one more thought before he joined him in a happy sleep.

..._Good night, son. Sweet dreams._

* * *

**Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed Camp Bruce, haha. If anyone is interested in seeing Camp Batman at some point in the future, let me know; Robin may just insist that KF get invited along, and we all know that not even Batman can resist a full-on Robin pout. Happy reading!**


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